Conquer the Night (46 page)

“Kyra, Katherine, where is Kyra? By God, did she ride off with him willingly?” he demanded incredulously.

For a moment a thousand doubts filled his heart.

She had tricked him.

All along.

Deceived him. And when the time for battle had come, she had finished with him, certain he was a dead man, that his cause was a dead one as well.

“I'll kill her!” he said softly.

“No! No!” Katherine whispered, tears spilling from her eyes again. She started to laugh, but she was crying as well. “No, Arryn! I was the one who wanted to kill her. I didn't want her taking Alesandra's place. And I was even more hateful to her when we were talking because she suddenly made me realize that I—I didn't help Alesandra.”

“You couldn't help her; you would have died as well. Katherine, she would have known that!”

“That doesn't matter now. What I did … well, I have to live with myself.”

“We all do,” Arryn said. “But, Katherine, you must tell me what happened.”

He heard hoofbeats; others of his men were riding across the field, coming to where they stood. Thomas, an expert horseman despite his handicap, leapt down from a borrowed war mount. Father Corrigan, clad in his robes again, dismounted as well. Ragnor had come, Jay, John, Roger, Nathan, and Patrick. And Swen was there, with Ingrid, who sobbed loudly. Swen held her back, but she looked around at all the dead men that lay on the field, and she started sobbing again.

Swen crushed her to his huge chest. “Hush, Ingrid, hush!”

“What exactly happened?” Arryn demanded, staring at the newcomers and his own men, all who seemed to have been informed already.

Each man was white faced, grim.

“What has Katherine told you?” Thomas queried sorrowfully.

“Not very much,” he said, trying to remain in control. “Kinsey Darrow came after we left. Half-killed Harry and Ioin. And then …”

“They played a horrible game with me, throwing me back and forth between them, wagering which one would kill me!” Katherine whispered.

“And then?”

“They started calling for Kyra, saying they would kill me if she didn't show herself.”

“And so she showed herself!” he exclaimed softly.

“Aye, and they would have killed me anyway, except that she knew it, and she drew her sword on Darrow—”

“I managed to give my lady her sword!” Ingrid said proudly; then she started sobbing again.

“Lady Kyra had Darrow down,” Katherine said. “And she kept the point of her sword at him until they would let me go …”

“I tried not to let her out of the forest!” Thomas said. “I swear to you, Arryn, I tried.”

“Thomas, I know that you did. But, please God, finish this story!”

“Lady Kyra insisted that she had a chance of living, and that we did not,” Thomas said. “She urged us to go for you.”

“But how did he find you?” Arryn inquired incredulously.

“Tyler! Tyler Miller!” Father Corrigan spit out with contempt.

Aye. Miller!
Arryn knew that there had been someone he hadn't seen among his men. That was it.

Tyler Miller …

He hadn't noticed because so many men had ridden with him….

A man to whom he had granted mercy. Kyra had pleaded for his life, ordering him to surrender! And none of them had questioned him since.

He had fought in the forest outside Seacairn!

Aye, because he could change his loyalty as easily as a tunic.

He looked toward Cressingham's raw carcass.

“I'll flay Tyler Miller alive!” he swore.

“Nay, you'll not,” Thomas said. “He wanted his reward for bringing Darrow to Lady Kyra. And they rewarded him, all right. With a knife to the gullet.”

“But Darrow was here! Here at the battle!” Corrigan said.

“He must have had her with him—hoping to make her watch as we fell,” Patrick said.

“And now,” Jay said, “all of the English have fled for the borders.”

Arryn spun around.

“Arryn! Where are you going?” Jay called.

“To Wallace!” he shouted back.

“But—but we've got to go after her!” Thomas protested.

Arryn was still walking. John stared at Thomas a moment, then came running after him. “You can't go to Wallace; we have to ride after Kyra. He'll kill her. And—”

Arryn turned to him.

“She's carrying your child,” John said.

Arryn went dead still. “She told
you?”
he said incredulously.

“Not on purpose. I guessed. She wasn't certain, but …”

By that time, Thomas had caught up with them as well. “It's true!” he said. “If he kills her, he kills her child as well, Arryn.”

A sickness seemed to grip his heart. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead; rage filled him, shook him. He turned and started walking again.

“Arryn!” John called.

He stopped and spun again. “If what you say is or isn't true, it doesn't matter. I will always go after her. But I must see Wallace. He intends to attack England. Well, by God, we'll be helping him, won't we? We'll be somewhat ahead. But it will be good to know he follows in our footsteps.”

“Aye!” John said, exhaling with relief. “Except that—”

“Aye?”

John shook his head uneasily. “We have to ride ahead, and ride hard and fast. We have to catch the English before …”

“Before?” Thomas said.

Arryn looked at John.

“Before he kills her,” Arryn said.

“She said that he would not kill her; that was why she must go to him….” Thomas began, but then his voice trailed away.

Aye, Darrow would do anything. Especially now, with the English defeat.

Arryn turned and started from the hill again to find Wallace. His limbs felt numb, his heart heavy.

It seemed a bitter irony to have found freedom at last.

And lost his soul along the way.

Within hours they were ready to ride.

His council with Wallace had been good; the commander had understood the situation, but he had been able to give Arryn little hope of large forces to assist should Kinsey Darrow reach a strong castle in which to fortify himself. “The men are sorely exhausted and injured; we've the castle here under siege. I intend to take war to the English countryside, and let them have a taste of what it is, but I must return to Dumbarton, there's to be a council at Perth….” His voice trailed off, and when he spoke again he didn't sound so much bitter as weary. “We hold Scotland, but I am no foolish boy. Edward will come back at us. We must maintain an army. We must, as well, send diplomats abroad, reestablish our trade rights, send bishops to Rome … aye, there's more battle to take place now, and though I understand why you must go immediately, you must understand why I cannot. Sir Harry and a contingent remain in pursuit of fleeing forces; other knights harry the wounded and scattered troops who have fled the main body and run alone. What men you can gather will be yours. Godspeed.”

He was free to leave; free to take his men and leave.

Despite his immediate anguish, fear, and rage Arryn was aware that he must use his head. His meeting with Wallace had reminded him that he would do Kyra no good if he followed instinct and just started running … running after her, as fast as he could. He had experience with Kinsey Darrow. The man did not hesitate to rape, maim, torture, and kill.

And she carried his child now!

He prayed she would keep silent; such a fact might send Kinsey over the edge. With any luck, he would remember that she had been the queen's godchild, and he might realize that Edward gave his queen's memory great respect. Kinsey would have to be careful.

Except that there were so many lies he could use! She could have an accident, riding. She could fall from a cliff. Trip, and land mysteriously with a knife through her heart.

When they were ready to depart Stirling, John asked him, “How do we find her? There are so many men out there, knights, soldiers, making their way home.”

“We find every last man that we can,” Arryn said.

“And kill them all?” Jay asked, troubled.

“Nay, we let them live.”

“Then what do we accomplish?”

“Fear,” Arryn said simply.

The good thing about the complete English rout was that the knights took little time to do anything other than run. Kinsey was distracted, at least; they rode very hard by day, and slept in the open at night.

Kyra wanted to live, and in that, she tried very hard to keep from his notice. She longed at various times just to start running from the camp. But a knife would fly into her back, she was certain, and even if the threat of what was to come her way at a later time seemed more awful than such a quick death, she refused to risk it. She wanted to live for herself, and for her babe.

The first few nights, they did nothing but sleep immediately upon the ground; there were no tents or camp mattresses for the great English soldiers then. They had been left behind in the flight.

Messengers came and went, as did men. Riders came with more news of the Scots. The Scots were besieging Stirling Castle; the force pursuing the English was riding beneath the leadership of a man named Henry de Haliburton. Knights and soldiers were still being massacred as they were discovered.

One wounded man, an English knight from York, joined their company on the third night. His name was Sir Reginald Trotter.

The whole of his forces had gone over the bridge. He thought he had died himself, but some kind soul dragged him from the water. The horse was not his own; though horses had died in huge numbers at Stirling as well, they had also been plentiful in the aftermath—the Scots had wanted to kill Englishmen, not animals. He had come this far on a pale gray destrier he'd found with its reins entangled in a bush.

He drank ale with Kinsey, Sir Richard, and a few of their men late one night. Kyra could hear his words because she'd been tied to a nearby tree. That was how she spent her nights, tied to an oak. She didn't mind, as yet, because the men were so afraid of every noise in the woods that Kinsey had kept his distance from her.

In fact, now that he had her, he seemed almost loath to come near her. She was at times allowed to ride her own mount; she was never allowed to hold the reins.

In these few days of desperate riding, she was given brief moments alone to wash and for personal necessities, but either Kinsey or Sir Richard was her guardian; apparently they didn't trust others to guard her properly. It seemed that they might have decided that she was a witch, and that in some way she would manage to turn to smoke and elude them, if they weren't careful at every turn.

It was the third night of their southward flight when she lay awake, listening to Sir Reginald talk. Having identified himself to guards and been let into the circle by the small campfire, he told the Englishmen chilling tales of the aftermath of the battle.

“Wallace is a madman, indeed. Cressingham was strung up and stripped of every last inch of his flesh. They say that Wallace will use a strip for a sheath for his sword. They are barbarians, all painted and wild! But my God! Why, in England, there had been trouble. Revolts against the king, especially in the north, with him demanding more and more taxes for his infernal wars. But now! Now we will be united in truth.”

“And we will rise again,” Kinsey said moodily.

“Aye, when Edward returns. When the king comes, he'll lead the army.” Sir Reginald was quiet for a moment. “Lord Darrow … I come with a message for you as well.”

“A message? For me?”

Sir Reginald lowered his head. “I was caught, captured by a band of the outlaws. They are this very minute coming south.”

Kinsey looked uneasily at Sir Richard. “Aye, go on.”

“Their leader is a man named Sir Arryn. He said that I might live—so that I might look for you as we fled the country.”

Kinsey stood in a fury. “So you've come to me as a traitor, sir!”

Sir Reginald got to his feet as well. “No. I've come to you as a messenger!”

“Aye, then, what is the outlaw's message?”

“He says to tell you that you hold what is his.”

“I hold what is
mine
that he tried to
steal!
”

“Sir, I have no argument; I only bring the words. He wants you to know that he intends to have the lady back.”

“He may ‘intend' all he wants. I hold the Lady Kyra.”

“If she is harmed in any way, molested, bruised, injured … he says that he will find you, and that you will meet Cressingham's fate, except that he will flay you alive, skin you, and then disembowel you and feed your—excuse me, sir, these are his words, not mine—sorry carcass to the dogs.”

Kinsey's face grew mottled with his rage.

“You may tell him—”

“Sir! I beg your forgiveness. I can tell him nothing. I will not see him again. I was allowed to live with the promise that I would cross the border—and not return.” He hesitated again. “There will be others. And you, sir, are free to send a man to him, to make arrangements for her return at any time. Though he thinks you should die, he is willing to let you live—for the return of Lady Kyra.”

Kinsey shot a glance at her, deeply disturbed.

She thought that she should pretend to be sleeping.

Too late. He saw her eyes. And she knew that he was speculating as to why she would be worth so much to Arryn that he would let him live in exchange for her.

“This man is nothing to me. He is an outlaw.”

“He reminds you that the queen of England stood godmother to the Lady Kyra at her birth. The king can be cruel, and the king can be generous.”

“This outlaw has no right to tell us about the king of England!” Sir Richard stated angrily.

Kinsey walked in a slow circle by the fire, rubbing his jaw. “He thinks he is warning me that if Kyra is killed outright, the king might punish me. But that is no matter. She is a traitor—and I can prove it in a court of law.”